


Reckoning

by Alethia



Series: Respite [2]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Episode Related, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Party, Porn, Secret Crush, Shame, Slow Dancing, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23519137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: "Oh, my god, are you judging yourself for getting carnal with the captain's evil twin? That's why you didn't tell me, because you feel all dirty?"Michael looked at her obviously. "Yes."Tilly flicked a dismissive hand, like it was nothing. "You got sexy with an ill-advised dude. Who among us and all that.""Me. Me among us. I don't do that."
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Christopher Pike
Series: Respite [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692373
Comments: 72
Kudos: 237





	Reckoning

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place at the very start of season 2. Sequel to "Respite," though you don't technically have to read that to follow this. This was supposed to be a short thing and then boom, 50 pages later. I object. Also posted [here](https://alethia.dreamwidth.org/1062033.html).

Michael settled in at her station, surrendering to the contentment that had been threatening ever since the medal ceremony. The war was over, she was back in her rightful universe, on her ship with her friends. And now, this pleasant surprise. She knew the plan was for the _Discovery_ to travel to Vulcan to pick up their new captain, and she had been looking forward to seeing the planet again, even if only for a brief time. This news that Sarek would accompany them just deepened her satisfaction, like all was as it should be. She'd get to accompany her father home and they could even spend a little time together on their voyage. An unexpected blessing. 

Which was, of course, when it all went to hell. 

The priority-one distress call sent a wave of unease through the bridge, Bryce working to ascertain its source. "Hail's from Captain Pike, sir," he finally said, sending a jolt through Michael, her pulse rate picking up. Pike? But that meant—

She looked to Sarek, both of them clearly thinking the same thing. 

"It's the _USS Enterprise_ ," she said to Saru, the surprise of it sweeping through her. That was Spock's ship. That was _Pike's_ ship. 

Unbidden, _“I'm going to fuck you so hard you forget Lorca's name,“_ careened through her mind, the Terran Pike looking at her with intent, lips bruised from their kisses, eyes dark with lust, predatory.

Michael instantly quashed those memories. That Pike was gone, a whole universe away. Everything that had happened there, with him, was...irrelevant. 

But while she was busy ignoring those memories, others took their place. Memories of Spock, of their childhood, of Spock's broken expression as she said terrible things to him, her cruelty stinging even now. The emotional whiplash was...overwhelming, _too much_ swamping her at once. Michael ruthlessly shut down all of it. Ignoring these emotions was just...easier.

If only her heart agreed, the _thump thump thump_ of it loud in her ears. Spock. Pike. _Here_. Their ship disabled. But how?

She pulled herself from memories of the past to focus on the now, on this problem she could fix, Tilly coming up with the Morse code solve. 

"Transmission coming through," Bryce announced. "Captain Christopher Pike requests permission to come aboard. He has an engineer and science officer with him."

Michael looked to Sarek again as Saru granted permission. She didn't need telepathy to know that both of their minds were on Spock, Pike fading to the background as the reality of her brother's presence sunk in. 

"I had not expected to see Spock again," Sarek admitted.

"Neither had I." Michael didn't know how to feel, reeling at the idea of seeing Spock after so many years. After so much pain. What could she possibly say to him?

Her mind wouldn't settle as she walked with Saru to the transporter room, thoughts of Spock plaguing her. But along with them, memories of the Terran Pike peaked through, flashes of his mouth on hers, his fingers _in_ her, traitorous heat lacing through her. She gritted her teeth and tried to put it out of her mind. 

Unsuccessfully, it turned out, as Saru picked up on her anxiety and questioned it, thankfully assuming it was all about Spock. 

Michael shut down his inquires as best she could, not wanting to engage on Spock. Or Pike. "We received a priority alert from one of Starfleet's most prominent ships. I am on mission and in problem-solving mode. That's what you're sensing."

Saru sniffed, making a negative noise, Michael's irritation flaring. She clung to the annoyance as they entered the transporter room, but Saru defused it with talk of his own sister, a distance between them they could not navigate. 

"I know the feeling," Michael muttered, her dark thoughts once again turning to Spock. 

The transporter beams materialized their guests before them, Michael holding her breath—

Only to stare, confused, at the science officer who _was not Spock_. Disappointment swept through her, quickly followed by relief. And with that, a tiny spark of guilt. 

"Welcome aboard, Captain Pike." Saru's greeting jolted her out of it, Michael's gaze darting over—

To find _Pike_ standing on the transporter pad, every bit as striking as his Terran counterpart. Heat swept through Michael as she took him in, handsome in the new gold uniform, his command bearing the same, a man used to being in charge. But where the Terran Pike wore it as a weapon, this one was matter-of-fact, even self-deprecating, as he greeted Saru with a handshake, delivering bad news with sympathy. 

Michael's eyes kept getting caught on him, unable to help herself from getting distracted by his sheer presence, even as he relayed that a new emergency was upon them. Her mind busily analyzed what he said—he was taking command, on Starfleet's orders—her body pulsing with the realization—

Pike was her captain now. With that thought, a helpless want flushed through her, _“I'm going to fuck you so hard you forget Lorca's name,“_ roaring back to the forefront of her mind. 

Michael swallowed against her suddenly-dry throat. This was going to be a _problem_. 

***

Michael made her way through the empty, early-morning halls, her sparring suit clinging as she moved. Now that Pike was staying on with them to investigate the mysterious signals, a distracted energy kept buzzing through her, thoughts of Pike pulling her focus at the most inopportune times. Her eyes kept straying to him in briefings and on the bridge, she couldn't help herself from challenging him on faith, analyzing his character. And still that heated voice whispered to her, _“I'm going to fuck you so hard you forget Lorca's name,“_ reminding her that her interest was not even close to academic. It was all...destabilizing. 

Awakened by memories best forgotten, a workout seemed like an ideal focus for this pent-up...energy. An outlet. And it was early enough that she wouldn't be disturbed. 

She headed into the sparring gym—

And pulled up short. 

Pike and Nhan were already there, circling each other on the center mat, both holding _swords_ , a light sheen of sweat covering them. Nhan was in a gray sparring suit, her hair up in a messy ponytail, while Pike wore loose shorts and a sleeveless shirt, showing off impressive muscle definition in his arms. Michael tried not to stare as she moved to one of the sparring dummies, but her head was...no longer in her workout. _Dammit_. 

Pike and Nhan both glanced over at her entrance even as they traded strikes, skilled, studying each other clinically. Then Nhan suddenly attacked, driving at Pike with her sword. He defended, feinted, then swung at her from the right—

Nhan parried it as she kicked at his knee, sending Pike sprawling to the mat. 

Michael blinked at the unexpected sight, not even pretending to work at the dummy anymore. 

Pike slumped and sighed, an ease in his body that made something within Michael flutter. Then he raised himself on his elbows, eyeing Nhan askance. "Really?"

Nhan moved to stand above him, sword held loosely, lifting a single eyebrow. "Do you know when you lost?"

"Well, there was the part where you kicked my ass to the floor."

Nhan tilted her head. "Would you like to joke or spar?"

"Are we sure that's a binary choice?" he said, light. Charming. 

Nhan just stared at him. Impressively uncharmed. 

Pike sobered. "Fine. When did I lose?"

Nhan looked up at Michael then, her gaze arrowing straight into her for a moment. "When Burnham walked in. You lost focus, covered with that feint, but you were still distracted."

"So you're saying it's Burnham's fault," he shot back, tossing Michael a little smile that said not to worry, he was just messing with Nhan. The fact that Michael could decipher it warmed her dangerously.

Nhan was not amused. "No. You need to keep control. Any moment of hesitation or inattention and you're dead. Now, try again." She held out a hand. 

Pike took it, letting her lever him up. He collected his sword and they both took up fighting stances. This time, Pike was the one who attacked, aggressive, trading blow after blow with Nhan, backing her up, the force of his hits visibly shaking her arm. Nhan ducked him to avoid being forced off the mat, but Pike anticipated it, using her momentum against her to hook her arm and bring his sword to her throat. Stalemate. 

"Focused enough for you?" he asked, immediately bringing his sword down and away, stepping back to give her space. 

Nhan inclined her head. "It'll do for now."

Oddly, Pike grinned. "High praise. And what do you think, Burnham?" he asked, looking over keenly, seeming fully aware that Michael had been watching, rapt. 

Michael started, feeling caught-out, though she shouldn't be surprised. She was hardly subtle in her observation. "You're both skilled fighters," she offered, neutral. "But I didn't realize Starfleet still trained with swords."

"Barzans do," Nhan answered, gathering her discarded scabbard. 

"And she indulges me," Pike said, inclining his head toward Nhan in appreciation. 

"To a point," she shot back, sheathing her sword. "I'll see you both on the bridge."

That pronouncement made, she headed out the door, leaving Michael uncomfortably aware that she and Pike were now alone. She'd thought nothing of wearing her sparring suit earlier, but all she could think about was her bare arms, how much skin she was showing. She couldn't help but notice the sheen of sweat making him glow, that voice rumbling through her mind again, _“I'm going to fuck you so hard you forget Lorca's name.“_

Michael swallowed hard. 

Pike glanced after Nhan, the corners of his lips curling. "Don't take it personally," he said wryly. "She's not much for conversation. Or pleasantries. Got a mean right hook, though."

"That, I believe." She shook her head, unable to help her curiosity. "I'm surprised to see you sparring. So much of your service has been about defusing a fight."

"And failing spectacularly at it," he said, light. 

"I'd hardly call one of the most distinguished records in Starfleet a failure."

Pike's smile dimmed. He inclined his head at her point, but slipped into something thoughtful. "Every battle engaged means we failed somewhere. Failure of diplomacy, failure of understanding. I'd rather be unremarkable, honestly."

Michael nodded, that landing somewhere deep in her chest. "Well, you're certainly not that."

Pike smiled that wisp of a thing again, something about it making Michael _ache_. But he quickly shook it off. "As for your question, just because I don't like to fight doesn't mean I can't. I don't seek violence, but if it finds me, you better believe I'm gonna end it."

She inclined her head. "What is it they say? 'One of the most dangerous men in Starfleet.'"

Pike actually rolled his eyes at that. "Kat says one off-the-cuff thing to a reporter and a guy gets a reputation." 

"Yes, I'm sure it's wholly undeserved," she deadpanned.

He grinned a little, like he was delighted by her cheek. Then his gaze sharpened. "Someone's been doing her research."

Michael swallowed down the _pulse_ at his words. This was casual conversation, nothing more. "Scientist," she reminded. "And you did invite the scrutiny."

"So I did." He held out his arms, crooking another smile at her. "And? Do I pass muster?"

"I need more data before I can make that determination," she shot back.

"Ouch," he said, hand going to cover his heart. "You wound me, madam."

"More than Nhan's right hook?" she said, deadpan. 

"That remains to be seen," he rumbled, his voice going low in a way that shivered through her. 

It shook her enough to make her realize she shouldn't be doing this, casually chatting with him. _Flirting_ , her mind supplied, though she ruthlessly suppressed that thought. 

Instead, she cleared her throat and looked to the wider room. "I should get to it." 

Pike nodded. "Sorry if we were distracting. You need a partner for your workout?" he asked, expression earnest and open, like he was here for whatever she needed. 

Michael's breath caught as that image flashed in her mind—Pike circling her, blue eyes focused on her body, on how she moved. _“I'm going to fuck you so hard you forget Lorca's name.“_

"No—no, thank you, Captain. I was just planning to go through some katas."

Pike nodded again, not seeming put out. "Well, you ever want one, let me know. It's always good to go up against new opponents. Keeps you sharp." He smiled then, brighter. "And we can see if Spock's ruthless commitment to knocking me on my ass prepared me to face his sister." He seemed delighted by the idea. 

"Enjoy getting your ass kicked, do you?" 

Pike shrugged. "Passes the time." He tipped his head to her, back in captain mode. "Commander."

Only after he walked out could Michael take a full breath again. 

This was _such_ a problem. 

***

Michael was glad to have Spock's drawings to throw herself into, the mystery of the seven signals defying all logic. Yes, it was their mission and her duty to pursue, but it gave her something to focus on. Something to distract her. Something that was _not_ the captain, whose presence could so easily consume her. 

But at the same time, the signals were so inexplicable as to make her feel inadequate. Spock's final message said he'd figured them out, but as hard as she focused, as much time as she spent, she just couldn't see what he did. She couldn't find the logical connection that had sent him off to parts unknown. It was maddening. 

Michael stared at the holo-map of the signals swirling around her, the bright red dots taunting her. There was something here. Some connection. There had to be. 

The sound of the science lab doors opening interrupted, Michael looking up—

To find Pike stepping through, casually carrying some kind of white bag. One corner of his mouth lifted as he took her in. "Thought so."

Michael blinked at him, her surprise blending with irritation; she was holed up here to _avoid_ him, to avoid this exact scenario. But even that was overlaid with the pulse of her heart at seeing him. At the two of them, once again alone. "Sir?"

"Shift ended two hours ago. A little birdie told me you've been burning the midnight oil and here you are." He held up the bag. "Naturally, I brought tacos."

It was so nonsensical, it made her laugh. "Tacos?"

A horrified expression came over his face. "Please tell me you've had tacos. If there's any justice in the galaxy—you know, corn tortillas, wrapped around meat and vegetables, spiced to perfection? Tacos?"

Michael shot him a quelling glance. "I know what tacos are, sir. What I fail to understand is why you felt the need to bring them here."

He looked relieved for beat. Then his expression cleared as he moved to the center console, setting the bag down. "Well, as someone who spent some quality time in a funk, I feel the need to help my fellow officers find their way out. Don't bother denying it, I know the look. You're brooding, taking Spock's disappearance on your shoulders and kicking yourself that you can't figure it out. So. Tacos," he said brightly, unpacking several foil-wrapped bundles, setting a few in front of her. "I took the liberty of reprogramming some of the computer's recipes. Someone was getting stingy with the spices, I'm just saying."

Michael winced at the accuracy of his assessment. It wasn't the whole truth, but she wasn't about to tell him the other part of it. She pressed her fingers to the still-warm foil, considering. "I presume someone brought you tacos once and you're paying it forward."

"My doctor prescribed martinis, actually," he said, before taking a bite of a taco and chewing thoughtfully, making a pleased little noise that curled desire in her belly. 

Michael tried to ignore it. "And the martinis...helped?" 

"No, they made me drunk _and_ maudlin. Really not my best look." He gestured her toward the tacos, encouraging. "Go on. I demand feedback on my culinary efforts."

" _Your_ efforts," she couldn't help but snark back, but she obligingly unwrapped a taco and took a tentative bite. The flavors burst on her tongue, chilis and bell peppers delicately spicing the meat substitute. She looked to him and admitted, "Not bad."

"Eh, see?" he said, pleased, unwrapping another and taking a pointed bite. 

"So if the martinis didn't help, what did?" she asked, taking another bite of her own, realizing she actually was hungry. 

Pike considered as he chewed and swallowed. "Getting kidnapped and psychologically tortured by a previously-unknown alien species."

Michael stopped chewing and stared. 

He made a soothing gesture. "I'm fine and it was clarifying. But obviously I'd like to spare you that, so...tacos." He took a bite of a different taco...and then frowned. "Oh, dear. That's a fail." He chewed and swallowed, staring at its contents in displeasure. "Yeah, the mushrooms were a bad idea." Then a thought seemed to occur to him. "Don't tell Stamets. He'll accuse me of fungicide or something."

Michael smiled, charmed against her will. She gestured to the foil wrappers strewn around. "Delicious though these may be, I don't think they're the cure-all you imagine."

"Okay, first off, I really think you're selling them short." He tilted his head. "But it's less about the tacos than me coming here to say...you're not alone, Michael. I know you've been holing up, putting all this pressure on yourself to figure out what Spock was thinking, to unravel the mystery. I'm here to say, it's not all on you. You have a team here. You have me here. We're with you. You don't need to solve it on your own. And it doesn't need to be tonight."

His eyes implored her, blue and earnest, and something in Michael was desperate to fall into him, to let everything else melt away. He was so different from the Terran Pike, so warm, all about helping others, treating everyone else's needs as paramount. It was a generosity of spirit she hadn't expected, one that stole her breath...and made something in her _yearn_ for him. 

Michael quashed those feelings, trying to control herself. Trying to figure out what to _say_. "Thank you, sir," she finally offered, looking back down to the half-consumed tacos. "I just—I feel a responsibility. He's my brother."

"I know," Pike said, soft, getting her to look up at him again. "But we'll find him. Together. I know that, too."

Michael nodded, that confidence morphing into heat within her, settling low in her belly. The awareness of it made her awkward, unsure what to do now. 

Pike seemed to sense something, but he didn't comment on it, shaking his head and smiling a little. "Now, I really need you to try the mushroom taco and tell me if I'm being too hard on it."

Michael couldn't help but return his smile. "Need me to, huh?"

"Hey, I may have only been here a few weeks, but I know when I've got a secret weapon on my hands."

"My taste buds?" she deadpanned. 

"Your judgment," he corrected, genuine. Part of Michael _thrilled_ at that, at such a vote of confidence...even as another part of her shrank away, that voice whispering, _“I'm going to fuck you so hard you forget Lorca's name.“_ She doubted he'd value her judgment if he found out about that. 

Pike seemed to sense her conflict, but continued, light: "In return, I'll tell you funny stories about your brother..." 

A surprised breath caught in her throat at this thing she never knew she wanted, but was now _desperate_ for. A look at the real Spock, the one he'd never let her see. Not since they'd fallen out so spectacularly.

Pike clocked it, softening. "You said you hadn't spoken in years. I assume that means you haven't heard much about his tenure on the _Enterprise_."

She swallowed, trying to control herself. "Only the highlights. He's very complimentary of you," she said. Even she could hear the longing in her voice, the need to know some of what Spock's life had been. 

Pike inclined his head. "And I him. Go on now." He nodded to the dreaded mushroom taco. 

Michael gamely unwrapped hers and took a bite. She chewed, frowning a little. "Yeah, this texture is less than ideal."

"Right? For shame." Pike shook his head at himself. But then he moved past it, smiling his delighted smile, the open one that never failed to steal her breath. "As your reward, I will begin at the very beginning, what took me _years_ to bully out of Number One: the tale of Spock and Number One getting stuck in a turbolift."

Michael couldn't help it; she laughed. 

***

"You keep staring at the captain, you know."

"What? I do not," Michael said, the denial instinctive, some part of her shrinking back. She thought she'd done a good job of avoiding the issue, shoving her...thoughts to the back of her mind, refusing to dwell on the heat that swirled through her. 

She couldn't help it if part of her was constantly comparing the two Pikes, one she'd known so briefly, but all-too intimately, and one she was getting to know better even against her will...finding him all the more compelling for it. Her universe's Pike lived up to the stories and then some—honorable, generous, surprisingly charming. 

And attractive. Distractingly so. 

But Michael had vowed to put those thoughts out of her mind, focusing on their mission. On finding Spock and unraveling the signals. Anything else was...unhelpful. Inappropriate.

So Tilly's observation was distinctly unwelcome. Irritation flushed through her at the idea that she hadn't been hiding it as well as she thought. 

"You do. Even Jo said something about it after the mission to Terralysium. What, do you like him or something?" Tilly asked from her bed, pulling her hair into a bun for sleep, bringing this up like it was a reasonable thing to talk about, no big deal.

Michael opened her mouth...and had _no idea_ what to say. That familiar rush of confusion swept through her—helpless lust at the memory of the Terran Pike laying her out, shame that she'd gone along with it, all mixed up with embarrassment that she still...wanted. Her universe's Pike was so good, a paragon of all Starfleet's ideals. It felt like a transgression to even think of him that way. 

Tilly frowned, clearly seeing the conflict in Michael's expression. "Okay, I just walked into something," she muttered. Then she focused. "So you...like him?" she guessed.

"I don't know how to answer that," Michael said honestly. 

"I mean, it's not a complicated question. Do you want to get naked and do sexy things with him? Do you think about him putting his hands on you?"

Michael flushed as the memory of exactly that flared bright in her mind. Pike _touching_ her, a promise in his eyes. _“I'm going to fuck you so hard you forget Lorca's name.“_

"Ohhhhkay, then. That's a resounding yes," Tilly muttered. 

"It's...complicated," Michael said, forcing the memories back. 

"No, this is _great_ ," Tilly said, warming to the idea. "You should've told me. I know you're all weird about dating, but we can totally figure out a way to hook you two up."

"Tilly."

"I could throw a party," she said, strategizing, running through options in her mind. "Get some booze in both of you, loosen you up."

" _Tilly_."

"Staring doesn't lead to sexytimes, Michael. You have to actually _do_ something."

"I already have," she snapped, instantly regretting it. 

Tilly startled, like she'd been zapped. "Wait, what?"

Michael sighed, realizing that part of her wanted to talk to Tilly about this, even as the other part shied away. It was...confusing. "Never mind."

"Nope. Nu-uh. You don't get to throw that bomb and then walk away. Spill."

Michael looked down at her hands. "Remember the Mirror universe?"

"Killy Tilly with the fab hair and horrifying everything else? Yeah, she still shows up in my nightmares. Why?"

"When I was in command of the _Shenzhou_ , the _Enterprise_ stopped by. The Terran Pike, he came to see me." She shook her head, not sure how to say it. "It got...heated."

Tilly went uncharacteristically still. "Michael," she said, slow. "Did he...hurt you?"

"No," she said quickly. "No. Nothing like that. I—" She broke off, not knowing how to _say_ this. "The thing you have to remember is that it was just after Ash tried to—and then I found out Philippa was the Emperor. I was—I think some part of me was numb. And then there was Pike, looking at me like I was—he really loved that other Michael, I think. He was so intense. And I just...fell into it."

Tilly stared at her, mind working furiously. "Hang on. Are you saying you slept with the Terran Pike?"

"No," she said instantly. Then she swallowed, realizing definitions were a _problem_. "Kind of?"

Tilly blinked, stunned. "Those are two different answers, babe."

Michael made a vague gesture. "We didn't...get that far."

"How far did you get?" she asked, gaze penetrating. 

"Um. A conference table and riding his hand?" Michael offered, still not really believing it herself. "He told me he'd—he'd fuck me so hard I forgot Lorca's name, but then we got interrupted," she finished, quiet. 

Michael had never heard silence like this from Tilly. She looked up and found Tilly staring at her, utterly blank.

After a moment, she visibly shook herself. "Well, that's a lot." Her expression went knowing. "So when you look at him now..."

"I can't get it out of my head," Michael confessed on a rush of breath. 

"That explains the staring," Tilly said, dry. "Talk about an epic, multidimensional tease."

"Tilly."

"What? It's true." She made a surprised noise, like she was still trying to wrap her mind around it. "I can't believe you kept this from me." 

"I know, I'm sorry, I didn't want you to—"

"I mean, that is _so hot_ ," Tilly continued, like she hadn't even heard Michael, eyes going a little distant as she pictured it. Michael didn't _need_ her picturing it. 

Michael's brain stuttered a little: "It's—they're _horrible_. Truly awful humans. I shouldn't have—"

That snapped Tilly back to the present. "Oh, my god, are you judging yourself for getting carnal with the captain's evil twin? That's why you didn't tell me, because you feel all dirty?"

Michael looked at her obviously. " _Yes_."

Tilly flicked a dismissive hand, like it was nothing. "You got sexy with an ill-advised dude. Who among us and all that."

" _Me_. Me among us. I don't do that."

"You are way too hard on yourself, you know that?"

"No, I don't know that. I think at the very least I can _not_ sleep with gleeful genocidaires."

Tilly raised an eyebrow. "Was he covered in the blood of innocents or something?" 

Michael shifted. "...no."

"Then eh. I maintain my position. Shit happens. You're not a bad person or anything."

"There are standards. There have to _be_ standards," she insisted. 

"I'm not saying you should bang your way through the Mirror-verse, but if reaching for some hands-on attention from a hot guy got you through all the emotional trauma, then bully for you." 

Michael stared, nothing to say even as the sense of _wrong_ still flared within her. She shook her head, unable to reconcile it. 

Tilly sighed, then straightened, clasping her hands reasonably. "Okay, let's frame this another way: did getting sexy with evil Pike hurt anyone?"

Michael considered. "...no."

"Did it put anyone in danger?"

"No," she admitted. 

"So what's the problem again?" Tilly asked keenly. 

"I'm not...this person," Michael said faintly, a vague hand gesture encompassing...all of it. 

"If you're sitting here arguing that who you sleep with somehow defines your character, that's getting a firm 'rejected' from me," Tilly said, tensing, brimming with conviction. "Other people don't have that power over us. And especially not dudes."

"No, I know, I just—" Michael looked down. "I've never done this."

"Slept with someone you shouldn't have?" Tilly guessed. 

Michael nodded, meeting her eyes again.

"Is the problem that you regret it? Or that you don't?" she asked with that devastating insight. 

Michael swallowed. "...I don't know."

"And then our Pike is here, reminding you of the hotness while also being everything you admire," Tilly surmised idly, thinking it through aloud. 

Michael looked at her, helpless. 

Tilly sat back and nodded, slow. "That's okay, you know? You're allowed to have complicated feelings about that other Pike while also wanting this one." 

Michael swallowed against the permission inherent in that, something in her rejecting it. "I don't think I _should_ want this one," she finally said, soft. 

"Well, that's just unreasonable," Tilly shot back. She ticked points off methodically: "Hot, charming, funny, smart—that Astro grade aside, what even is that—honorable, loyal, and did I mention hot? Like, supernova hot. He's hard to look at hot. I mean, props for taste."

" _Tilly_ ," Michael protested, embarrassment flushing through her anew.

"Don't even try to argue. That man is a walking panty-dropper. Who _wouldn't_ want a piece of that?"

Michael swallowed and lay down, staring at the ceiling. "I'm going to bed now."

"Your avoidance is noted for the record and shall be revisited," Tilly chirped, both a warning and a promise. 

Great.

***

As the days went by, Michael felt Tilly's eyes on her more, analyzing, but she didn't bring up Pike again, seeming content to let it lie. 

Still, Michael couldn't seem to get a handle on her distraction. It was physical attraction, yes, but she had conquered such things before. This time, she couldn't seem to find her usual distance, the cool reserve that had served her so well on the _Shenzhou_. Part of it was the man himself, shockingly emotionally open with her from the very beginning. Michael wasn't used to such vulnerability from people she'd just met and she certainly didn't expect it to be quite so...affecting. 

She'd never felt such an instinctive connection to anyone. She'd like to think it wasn't a result of her physical relationship with the Terran Pike, but Michael couldn't quite be sure. All she knew was that in those moments when he got personal, opening up to her, she responded—sympathizing over his absence from the war, wanting to ease his mind about reporting Spock's visions of the signals to Starfleet, warming dangerously when he called her bossy, the affection clear in his voice and in his eyes. And when he ordered her to break into Spock's medical records, effectively taking responsibility for it should it ever become known to the Admiralty, a way of protecting her even though _she_ was the one asking—it was gratitude, yes, but it was also more. 

She shouldn't, she knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't seem to help herself where Pike was concerned. 

It wouldn't go away. 

***

"So, like, how good was he?" Tilly asked, spearing a carrot with her fork, nonchalant. 

Michael blinked at her, embarrassment welling. They didn't...talk about these things. "Tilly."

"What? You're all this—" she said, waving her fork at Michael, "and I'm just saying that seems like more than your garden-variety fingerbang, so ya know. A girl wonders."

Michael felt heat flood through her, mind instantly going back there, to his hands on her, when all she wanted was to _forget_. "I am not anything."

"You were staring at him again," Tilly said, pointed. 

Dammit. 

"Was it that good?" Tilly pressed, not letting this go, apparently. 

Michael swallowed, uncomfortable, but when Tilly got like this, it only ended one way. She might as well give in now. "It was—he was _with_ that other Burnham. He...knew how to..." She made a vague gesture.

Thankfully, Tilly got it. "Ohhh. So it was like getting held down by a walking wet dream who knew exactly how to get you off. Nice. No wonder your eyes are glued to his ass." She popped the carrot in her mouth, matter-of-fact.

Guilt flushed through Michael. She leaned in, lowering her voice. "He's—I can't stop thinking about it. _Reacting_ to him. It's—"

"Hot," Tilly concluded, chewing thoughtfully.

"Disrespectful," Michael corrected. 

"Disagree. And, seriously, I think Pike would be with me on this one."

"He's the captain," Michael protested. "He's not some object of—" She searched for the word, not knowing quite how to put it. 

"Lust? 'Cause I'm here to tell you, boy, are you wrong about that one and I have a whole crew as evidence." 

"Tilly," she scolded, frowning. 

Tilly smiled a little, undeterred. "You should really know not to fight me on this stuff by now." That ominous statement made, Tilly stood from her chair—

And then stood _on_ her chair, calling out to the mess hall, "Hey! I'm trying to prove a point. Show of hands, who's had sexy thoughts about the captain?" Tilly raised her own hand, staring out at the lunch crowd expectantly. 

A beat...and about half the hands in the room went up. The group included most of the women and rather more of the rest than Michael would have expected. 

"Thank you, all you lovely, honest people," Tilly said, nodding in approval. Then she hopped off the chair, took her seat, and looked at Michael evenly. "Like I said."

Michael just stared at her. "You really had to—"

"I really did," she interrupted, unrepentant. 

"Now everyone will wonder why you asked that. What we were talking about."

"Oh, I bet they have an idea."

"Tilly," Michael said, frustrated now. 

"You gotta stop kicking yourself for being attracted to him. Anyone who swings that way is attracted to him. He's like sex on legs. You've seen how he walks, you know I'm right. Actually, you'd know better than most," she amended, eyes dropping to Michael's body, her tone implying...things. 

Michael sat back. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Fine, fine, live in your denial," she said, light, but clearly letting it go. 

For now.

***

And then it all went to hell—the Sphere, Saru almost dying, Tilly disappearing into some kind of...cocoon, her condition unknown, Michael desperate to find out what happened. 

As if that weren't destabilizing enough, the Terran Emperor showed up, the funhouse-mirror version of her mentor, slotting into Philippa's life like it was hers to soil. The cruel glint to her eye was a harsh reminder of every terrible thing Michael had done over there. 

Seeing her stand next to Pike...was difficult. Michael couldn't help but think of his Terran counterpart, his _hands_ , being pressed down into a cold table, the two of them heating it up. _“I'm going to fuck you so hard you forget Lorca's name.“_

Her emotions were all over the place—worried for Tilly and Spock, angry at Philippa, wanting Pike—and it felt like Philippa could read every one of them, needling her about Spock, pressing where it hurt. 

She couldn't even find solace in Pike, as she might otherwise have. Because he didn't know who Philippa truly was, that was clear from the very start. Michael couldn't _fathom_ why Starfleet didn't tell him, especially given his classified briefing about Lorca, but they must have had reason. They must.

Regardless, it meant she struggled to contain her anger, Pike seeming to clock it even as he verbally sparred with Leland. 

And that was something else. It was...disconcerting to see Pike lose. Especially given how Michael had come to associate him with the side of right. Pike having to stand down meant something was wrong. 

As Leland's holo-image disappeared, Pike turned toward Philippa, still sprawled in one of his chairs like she owned the place. "You're free to go, Captain."

Philippa took another bite of the apple, looking from Pike to Michael, a little smirk appearing. And with it, dread bloomed in Michael's gut, dark and shocking. 

No. No, she _wouldn't_. 

Michael sent Philippa a quelling glance, but that just seemed to deepen the sparkle in her eyes. She stood, refocusing on Pike as she swallowed her bite. "Before I do, I must say I'm impressed by both of your professionalism, especially in light of what happened with the Terran Pike."

"The Terran Pike," Pike echoed, soft, his captain's mask hiding any surprise, even as he clearly wanted to know more. 

Michael's heart beat wildly in her chest as she stared at Philippa, trying to catch her eye, but she kept her gaze on Pike, smiling to him approvingly. "I told Michael that she needn't worry about your reaction. You're a man of honor. So what if your counterpart pressed her down into a table for some close, personal attention. You'd never hold that against her. I'm glad to see that my faith in you was not misplaced."

Before Pike could say anything, Michael jumped in, ignoring the sick feeling in her stomach. "Why don't I escort you out," she said, not a question. She gestured for Philippa to head for the turbolift. Philippa simply inclined her head. "Captain," she said to Pike with a parting, shark-like smile.

"Captain," he murmured back, absolutely _nothing_ in his voice. Michael dared not look back at him, the embarrassment, the _shame_ , already welling up within her. 

Dammit. 

***

"Seriously?" Michael rounded on Philippa after the turbolift doors closed. 

Philippa smirked at her, pleased with herself. "You stare at his hands, you know. Although I suppose that's not such a surprise, given how blissfully my Pike used them."

She said it like she had personal experience with him and what? Was she trying to make Michael jealous? To rattle her? Michael couldn't understand the shape of her behavior, so she swallowed and refused to take the bait. "What could you possibly get out of telling Pike? You won't even be here to enjoy my humiliation."

Philippa tsked. "It's not about humiliation, my dear." She met Michael's eyes evenly, seeming genuine as she said, "You should have what you want." 

Michael stiffened, the refusal instinctive: "I don't—"

"Michael, please. You forget that I know you. You look at Pike the same way you first looked at the _Shenzhou_. Covetous," she said, drawing out the syllables pointedly. 

"I'm not _her_ ," Michael protested. 

Philippa snorted, dismissing that like it was unimportant. Then she shook her head. "Personally, I don't see the appeal. He's far too morally upright. No edges at all." She tilted her head, considering. "Although I suppose my Pike did promise you something. Is that it? You keep hearing the other Pike offering to fuck you until you forget Lorca's name?"

Michael swallowed as Pike's sex-drenched voice rang in her head, promising exactly that. She didn't...need those thoughts right now. 

"Pike is my captain and a good, honorable man."

"Boring," Philippa sniffed, dismissive. Then she shrugged. "But I bet he's obedient in this universe, too. I suppose you could do worse."

Then the turbolift doors opened and she walked out.

***

As soon as Philippa was gone, Michael took refuge in Engineering, checking in on Tilly's status. She wasn't hiding from what happened, exactly, but Tilly's disappearance took priority.

Discovering that Tilly had been transported into the mycelial network felt like a vindication, the first good news they'd had in far too long. 

***

"Burnham." Michael tensed at Pike's voice, looking over to find him approaching in the hall. But his expression was wholly professional, all business as he informed her, "Section 31's liaison just got here." The safe topic sent a wave of relief through her, quickly followed by concern. She didn't trust anyone who would work with the Terran Emperor. 

Pike gestured her into the mess—

Michael pulled up short at sight of Tyler, the full weight of his betrayal crashing down on her at once. Tilly, Philippa, and now this? If she believed in a higher power, she might think someone was having fun at her expense.

Of course Pike noticed. Michael could _feel_ him studying her, wishing she were anywhere but under his scrutiny, too thrown by too many things to be hiding her reactions well. And Pike _saw_ her. That was part of the problem. 

It was bizarre to find herself defending Tyler against Pike's very reasonable mistrust, but apparently everything was upside-down today. 

Even worse, Pike knew she was hiding something, calling her out on it, upfront as he always was. All Michael could do was ask for his patience—

The relief at his easy acceptance was like taking a breath after being under too long, the instinctive trust he extended buoying her. 

*** 

Tyler took care of that quick enough. 

***

Michael didn't think she'd ever admired anyone more than Pike when he opened a ship-wide channel and said they were going after Tilly, damn the risks. He lived out every principle they held dear, even when it cost him to do so. He was steady, loyal, admirable. Michael knew he would always have their backs, always do the right thing, no matter what. And it made her _want_ , viscerally, in a way she found discomfiting. Emotions that strong never led anywhere good. 

Her physical attraction was one thing. She'd wanted the Terran Pike on sight, an instinctive response. But this? This was so much more...and so much harder to bear. He was so noble and her response was so...base. 

Michael shoved those thoughts aside, a temporary solution, she knew. At some point, there would come a reckoning. But not now. 

Now she had to rescue Tilly.

***

Tilly pulled her head from Michael's shoulder, hair still wet from her shower, wiping away the last few tears. "I don't want to think about it anymore. Please distract me with something from your life."

Michael looked at her and smiled a little, mind flicking through all the unthinkable chaos of late. "Well, I ran some truly revelatory diagnostics while you were away..."

Tilly playfully shoved at her, smiling as Michael intended. "Come on, don't be like that. I come back and find _Tyler_ on the bridge. You can't tell me nothing happened."

Michael's smile faded at the mention of Tyler, everything about him hurting. "Yes, he's with Section 31. As is Georgiou. She visited while you were gone, too."

Tilly snorted. "And she didn't even take over the ship. What a slacker."

"Well, she did tell the captain about me and the Terran Pike, so it seems she's sowing a more personal kind of chaos these days," Michael said mildly.

Tilly blinked at her. "Wait, what? She dropped the truth bomb on Pike? If anyone was gonna do that, they should've waited until I could watch, come on."

Michael shook her head, rueful. "It's like she enjoys antagonizing me."

Tilly's look went shrewd, like she was working through a problem. "How did _she_ know?"

Michael opened her mouth...and flushed.

Tilly stared at Michael. "Oh, my god, there's _more_? There's more you didn't tell me."

"No, I did. I just didn't get into details." Technically it was true. 

Tilly frowned...and then figured it out: "You said you got interrupted. You got interrupted by _Georgiou_?"

Michael flushed again and Tilly flopped back onto the bed with a dramatic, "Oh, my _god_." She instantly straightened. "What did you _say_?" Then she answered her own question: "Wait, you totally ran, didn't you?"

"I had to usher her out."

"Had to. Sure." Tilly frowned at Michael, like she knew her next words wouldn't be received well: "You know you have to talk to him about it, right?"

Michael smiled, tight, and stood, stepping to her side of the room. "Or we could just ignore it and move on."

"Just one problem with that: our Pike isn't the ignoring-it type. He's definitely going to bring it up."

Michael looked back at Tilly, wrestling with that. "He's also kind," she tried. "He might let it go."

Tilly shot her a challenging look. "First shower every day for a week says he doesn't even make it another twenty-four."

***

He didn't even make it twelve. 

Michael was summoned to Pike's ready room that evening, after shift. Of course he'd want to address it as soon as was appropriate. Tilly really was better at these sorts of interpersonal things. Michael needed to remember that. 

She found him propped against the window behind his desk, studying the stars. His arms were folded, something uncharacteristically defeated in his posture. 

Michael frowned, a flash of hurt streaking through her, though she immediately suppressed it. She shouldn't be surprised at this reaction. Pike was the most noble among them; of course he'd disapprove of her...fling with his counterpart. It was unbecoming. 

"You wanted to see me, sir," she said, quiet. 

Pike looked over, the emotion easing from his posture as he nodded in welcome, a small smile appearing. Kind. "Yeah, thanks for swinging by."

He paused, like he didn't quite know how to start. Then he shook his head, gripping the back of his chair, some kind of tension in it. "I double-checked your record just to make sure I hadn't missed something, but there was no mention of the Terran Pike in any of your reports."

Michael nodded, grasping onto her calm even as her heart rate picked up, a sick feeling roiling in her stomach. "Because I didn't mention him."

Pike met her eyes, almost helpless, like he was faced with a problem he didn't know how to fix. Michael swallowed against the sting even as his eyes implored her. "Michael...we have rigorous assault protocols for a reason. We could have assigned you to the _Enterprise_ while—you shouldn't have to serve with someone who—" He broke off, running a hand over his mouth, half-turning away as he struggled with himself. 

Michael's heart _thudded_ as the sick feeling in her stomach intensified. He thought it was an assault. He thought she looked at him every day and saw a man who hurt her. 

"Sir," she said, shaky, trying to figure out how to discuss it while keeping some sort of dignity intact. 

"I'm sorry," he said instantly. "None of this is on you. I just beamed on board and took over. My arrival put you in an uncomfortable position."

" _Captain_ ," Michael said firmly, forestalling any more self-recrimination, giving up on dignity entirely. He shouldn't have to think that he caused her pain, even by association. She needed to clarify. "I appreciate your concern, but it wasn't what you're thinking."

Pike's expression flickered, nothing Michael could read. "I'm sorry?"

"A lot of terrible things happened over there, but my...encounter with the Terran Pike wasn't one of them."

Pike blinked, like she was saying two plus two equaled banana. "But Georgiou said—I don't understand."

"To be completely honest, I don't know if I do, either. I was...vulnerable. The Terran Empire had me drowning, desperate to find anything good to hold onto, to ground me. And as bizarre as it sounds, he gave me that. A haven. Pleasure. Love. He wanted his version of Burnham and for that one moment, I wanted him," she said, gaze going unfocused as she thought back to it. 

"...oh." 

Michael shook herself, refocusing on him, taking in the vaguely stunned look in his eyes. "I didn't put it in my reports because it didn't seem relevant." Michael tilted her head. "And I didn't want anyone to know. I'm sorry if Philippa gave you the wrong impression. It's been my honor to serve with you."

Pike cleared his throat, seeming at a loss. "To be completely honest, I'm not quite sure what to say. 'I slept with your evil twin' isn't one I've run across."

"It wasn't as involved as all that, but I understand the sentiment." Pike looked like he wanted to follow that train of thought, so Michael continued on: "If you're worried that there's some sort of bleed-over, don't be. When I look at you, I see you. Not him." Michael didn't say that when she looked at him she felt the same pull, only stronger, both because of his body _and_ his mind. 

Pike took a beat and then nodded. "That's good to know."

"Will there be anything else, sir?"

"No, thank you, Burnham. Have a good night."

***

"Or you could have said, 'I'm desperately frustrated that I still want to jump your bones,'" Tilly said from her bed, like this was obvious and Michael was an idiot for not thinking of it. 

"Yes, that sounds like me."

Tilly flapped her hands at Michael, her bun bobbing, incensed. "It could be! Apparently you're jumping hotass evil captains in other universes; you're already expanding your horizons. Why not expand them right into this hotass captain's bed?"

"He doesn't think of me like that, Tilly," Michael said, quiet. 

"Oh, _come on_. Do you remember the part where he was in love with you over there?"

"That's a completely different universe. We're different people. You know that better than anyone, Killy Tilly."

"Yeah, but we're mirrors." Tilly pressed her palms together, then flipped them, pressing the backs of her hands together. "Inverses. And the inverses of you two fell in love. Ergo..."

Michael shrank back at the implication. "Just because they did doesn't mean that we would."

"Or it does," she said, like this was a logical conclusion. "And look, even before all this, he was into you. This is just more supporting evidence."

Surprise arrowed through her, followed by heat. " _Into_ me?" 

Tilly looked at her obviously. "I'm sorry, is there someone else he's having long, intimate hallways chats with? Did I miss the part where he and Larani are getting cozy outside the mess hall?"

"We weren't—"

Tilly rolled her eyes. "You realize other people can see you, right? Like, I know it might feel like you're in your own little world, but people with eyes and mouths continue to walk by when you pause to go all deep and soul-searching with each other. And then they come tell me."

Unexpectedly, Michael flushed. She had never once thought about what that might look like to outsiders, those moments she and Pike got wrapped up in something, the universe narrowing to just the two of them. Or that was what it felt like, anyway, all his attention focused on her. 

"There it is," Tilly crowed. "And seriously, I know you think this is all you, but trust me when I tell you it's not. He wants you back. You just have to reach out."

Something in Michael rebelled at that idea, at that _risk_. She shook her head. "It's a nice thought, Tilly, but even if that were true before, with what he knows now...things are different."

Tilly looked at her like she'd sprouted horns. "What, because he knows you banged some other guy? Please. He's slept with other people. You can tell by the way he works those hips." She did a little shimmy thing on the bed, Michael flushing at the sight. 

Still, Michael shook her head. "It's not some other guy; it's him. His evil twin, as he called it. It would be naïve to think he could just move past that."

"Move past it? It proves that you wanna get carnal with him. Or someone who looks just like him. Pike should be throwing himself a party."

"You didn't see his reaction," Michael said, soft, thinking back on the flicker in his expression, his growing surprise.

"But it's Pike," Tilly said, like he was in a class of his own. "You're not giving him nearly enough credit here."

"It's _weird_ ," Michael insisted. "Besides, he's my captain. It's inappropriate. I'm just...I'm going to let it lie." She shot Tilly a look that told her not to argue, rolled over, and pulled the covers up. 

There was no point in discussing it further. It was done. 

And if Michael mourned that, well. No one else needed to know. Not even Tilly.

***

She wasn't looking forward to briefing Pike on the post-jump hull retrofit, so it was a surprise to find that he seemed completely normal, like they'd never had a conversation about evil twins and tabletop dalliances. 

"The repairs should be complete in the next forty-eight," she finished, gesturing over the holo-map to indicate the most damaged areas, Pike nodding thoughtfully.

"I've never been so glad mycelia don't have the munchies for tritanium," he murmured. Then he paused, seeming to consider. "Truthfully, I never gave much thought to _what_ mycelia like to eat."

"Stamets will be so disappointed," she deadpanned, automatic. 

"Won't be the first time I've let him down. Just ask him," Pike shot back with that twinkle, humor warm between them. 

Michael couldn't help her smile, affection slipping through her even as she marveled at how weird this _didn't_ feel. "Why, sir, are you suggesting Stamets holds you in anything other than the highest regard?"

"Suggesting? The force of the man's condescension could power a small ship."

"Figure out how to do that, you might just win him over."

Pike crooked a smile at her. "What's funny about that is the 'might.'"

Michael tilted her head. "This is the _Discovery_. We eat impossible for breakfast."

"Do you ever," he murmured, eyes steady on hers. Then he looked to the holo-map again, nodding once. "The plans look good. Approved. Well done, Commander."

The praise sent a rush of satisfaction through her. It was completely illogical—she knew the plans were impressive, leveraging their manpower and automated systems in harmonious efficiency—yet she couldn't help the reaction, still so affected by him. 

She wondered if that would ever fade. 

Michael tried not to show it, nodding and closing the holo-map. "Thank you, sir. I'll leave you to it."

***

"It was just so...normal," Michael said, sipping her tea at her late lunch with Tilly, most of the other crew members having eaten and gone. 

"What did you expect? Him to say, 'hey, remember that time you banged my evil twin? Let's talk about that some more.'"

"Tilly," Michael hissed, checking around to see if anyone had heard. No one seemed to be paying any attention to them, Tilly rolling her eyes as Michael looked back to her. 

"You're blowing this out of proportion."

"I'm really not."

"You are, though. It was a moment."

"What if I told you that when I was over there Killy Tilly and I had a little fling?"

"I'd ask if it was the hair, then want to know how good I was," Tilly shot back without missing a beat. "I'd be good, right? Actually, maybe not. You probably don't have to be good in bed when you're a murderous domineering asshole." She considered that seriously for a moment. "On the other hand, you said Pike was good. Wow, I actually can't decide which one I'd prefer. My vanity is at war with my morals in really uncomfortable ways right now."

"Tilly."

"Hey, you brought it up."

"Because you said I'm blowing it out of proportion."

"Which you are. What, did you think Pike would start treating you differently?"

Michael shifted. "That's not an unreasonable supposition."

Tilly eyed her more keenly now, like she was trying to figure something out. "Did you _want_ him to treat you differently?"

Michael...didn't have an answer. Did she?

Tilly sat back like that was an answer in itself. "Uh-huh. Tell me, how do Vulcans choose sexual partners?"

Michael blinked at the change in topic, confused. "Parents choose their children's future spouses, so that's all arranged before puberty. As for casual liaisons, those are entered into based upon the likelihood of mutual pleasure."

Tilly rolled her eyes. "Vulcans," she dismissed, whatever that meant. "Human-Michael is allowed to be a hot mess who jumps a bad guy purely because she can. And you know what? I think this is good for you."

" _Good_ for me?" Michael echoed, faintly appalled.

"Yep. This is bringing out your inner prude in a way that I think you need to deal with before you get into a relationship."

Michael tensed. "I'm not a prude." Then she considered. "Or getting into a relationship."

"Whatever you want to call it, you're super judgy of your sexual self. It's like you want people to think badly of you. Which, to be clear, is not a game I will ever, ever play."

Michael stared at Tilly, mulling that over. She wasn't entirely wrong. Her...discomfort about the Terran Pike still lingered, despite the multiple talks they'd had about it _and_ Michael fully understanding her own mental state at the time. 

"I guess I don't understand why he isn't treating me differently," she finally admitted. 

Tilly reached over and patted her hand. "Because you didn't do anything wrong. Someday, you'll get that."

Michael very much doubted it...but let it go. There was no point to arguing it, in the end. 

***

True to form, Tilly quickly decided that the crew was in a funk and needed some cheering. Her solution? A "We're All Alive" Party while the ship was laid up by the hull retrofit. With banners and everything. 

Only Tilly.

Michael had to admit, it did seem to energize the crew. Or, at the very least, it gave them something to look forward to. Regardless, it was all Michael heard people talking about as she did the rounds, checking on the repairs.

Tilly really did wonders for morale. 

"Hey, Burnham, you going to the party?" Saito asked as she passed through Engineering, Jansen's blond head shooting up to look over at them both. 

Michael blinked. "I hadn't thought about it."

That was when Tilly appeared, carrying what looked suspiciously like a banner, as if any party talk demanded her presence. "What hadn't you thought about?" she chirped, seeming pleased by everything. 

Saito nodded to her with a smile. "Burnham going to the party."

Tilly scoffed, looking at Michael brightly. "Oh, you are _going_ to my party," she declared, like it wasn't even a question. More like a law handed down from a higher power. 

Michael knew it was useless, but even still: "Tilly..."

"Don't make me play the 'I almost died' card. You know I will," she shot back. 

Michael sighed and turned back to Saito. "Yes, I'm going to the party."

"Sweet. See ya there."

Tilly tugged on Michael's arm. "Come on, you can help me hang this." As they walked away, she leaned in close, tone indulgent. "If you're really abstaining from climbing Mount Pike, I'm just saying, Saito is _right there_."

" _Tilly_ ," Michael protested. 

Tilly's laughed preceded them into the hall. 

***

Michael stared at herself in the holo-mirror, but the dress stubbornly refused to transform into something... _less_. The gold material shimmered as she breathed, the strapless bodice leaving her arms bare, its cut emphasizing her cleavage. The dress clung to her body, the material fitted, highlighting the curve of her waist, her hips, before falling to the floor. She turned again so she could see the rest, the dress falling low in back, molding to her ass. It was so...aggressively feminine. Like a _display_. 

Of course Tilly had picked a dress like this. She'd set it out for Michael with an unequivocal note, but Michael could not fathom walking out in public dressed like this. It was unimaginable.

She'd just have to cut her losses and wear her uniform. Tilly wouldn't be happy, but maybe the cheer and inebriation of the party would blunt that. 

It could happen. 

Michael was just reaching for the zipper when the doors to their quarters opened, Tilly rushing in wearing a cobalt blue dress that emphasized all her curves. She grinned. "There you are! The party started an hour ago." Then she paused, taking in Michael's dress with a satisfied sound. "Also, _hello_! Damn, I have good taste."

"You can't possibly expect me to wear this."

"Why not? You look hot."

Michael flushed. "I look," she gestured vaguely, searching for the right phrase, "...half-dressed."

"And _hot_ ," Tilly said obviously, moving around her to look at the back. "Seriously, your ass looks amazing."

"Tilly."

"I mean, fair, your ass always looks amazing, but this is a different amazing. Pike won't know what hit him."

Embarrassed heat swept through Michael. "I'm not wearing it for him." Then she realized: "Or at all."

"Michael, you have to wear it. I went to all the trouble of having it replicated for you. I had the computer run measurements. Now come on, everyone's asking where you are." Tilly grabbed her hand and towed her toward the doors, pleading expression on her face. 

Michael sighed and let herself be pulled. It was only one party, after all. What could it hurt?

And if a small part of her wondered what Pike's reaction would be, well. No one else needed to know about that. 

***

The party was in full swing by the time they arrived—music playing, crowd dancing, the cacophony of hundreds of conversations happening at once. Michael was hit with sensory overload, that feeling of a mass of people all gathered in one space, the air heavy with presence. 

"Wow," Michael said, trying to take it all in. Banners were hung cheerfully, roving lights drawing attention here and there, everyone seeming relaxed and happy and _alive_. 

Tilly met her eyes, satisfied. "I know, right? We definitely needed this party."

Michael smiled a little. "You always say that."

"And I'm always right," Tilly crowed, snagging the drinks of a passing couple with a shameless, "We need these, thanks!" The couple just rolled with it, laughing and tumbling back the way they came. 

Tilly handed one of the drinks over, blinking innocently at Michael's exasperated expression. "My party, my rules," Tilly said, really committing to the shameless thing. Apparently. "Come on, drink up."

The glass was cold in Michael's hand, some kind of blue liquid she couldn't identify. "What is it?"

"That doesn't matter in the slightest," Tilly said brightly, downing her own blue drink in one go, looking at Michael askance when she didn't follow suit. She snapped her fingers, impatient. "Hurry it up, friend, gotta join the fun."

Michael sighed and gave in, knowing resistance was futile. She drained the glass in a few long swallows, the liquid sweet on her tongue, the bite of alcohol following a beat later. 

"There's my girl. Now let's go find the others, shall we?"

And off she went, without even waiting for an answer. Michael sighed again. 

It was going to be a long night. 

***

Detmer, Owo, Airiam, Bryce, and Rhys were clustered around some kind of game, tossing bean bags back and forth toward some wooden contraptions. They were all in civilian clothes, Owo in a dress, Detmer and Airiam in skirts and sweaters, the guys wearing button-up shirts. Relief swept through Michael; at least she wouldn't be completely overdressed. 

Tilly moved toward them, calling out, "Hey, look who I found!" Everyone looked up to Michael, smiling in welcome, offering greetings. Detmer let out a low wolf whistle when she spotted Michael's dress. "Looking good, Burnham!" she called, eyes glassy, clearly already well into the drinks.

It didn't stop Michael from flushing and sending her a quelling look. Tilly just beamed at Michael. "And here you doubted me."

"Did I really need to show quite so much skin?" Michael shot back. 

"Yes," Tilly said instantly, nodding for good measure. Before Michael could engage with that, Jansen arrived with a tray of steaming green shots, looking to Tilly for approval. "This enough?"

"Jansen, you have earned your keep today. That's perfect." Jansen smiled, blue eyes relieved, as Tilly started handing out the shots. Noticing Jansen still awkwardly standing there with the tray, she fluttered her hand at him. "Run along. Your services are no longer required."

Jansen smiled again and headed off, Michael looking after him for a beat, then back to Tilly as she held a shot out for Michael. "Do you suddenly have minions?"

"Oh, babe, I've always had minions; you just never noticed. Here." Michael huffed a laugh and took the shot. 

Seeing that everyone had a drink, Tilly nodded to herself, then raised her glass. "To being alive! Something we should all celebrate a little more." 

They all raised their glasses, Tilly and the others downing theirs in one go. Michael sipped at hers, wincing at the bite of alcohol. 

Tilly clocked her hesitance and raised an imperious eyebrow. Michael sighed and downed the shot, coughing a little in the aftermath, her eyes stinging from the burn. "That is disgusting."

Tilly nodded. "Great, right?" Then she turned to the others. "Now, whose ass am I about to kick?"

Rhys stepped up, lifting his chin. "I think you'll find me more formidable than you expect."

Tilly just laughed as she reached for the small bean bags. "That's adorable."

Michael grinned and settled in to watch. It _was_ good to be alive. 

***

After several rounds of the game, where Tilly wiped the floor with Rhys, then Bryce, only to be defeated by Airiam, Michael decided she needed some water. An ever-changing parade of Tilly's minions kept bringing them drinks—Michael thought most of them were specialists, but it was hard to tell without uniforms to guide her—and the room was starting to get a little tilted. 

Michael waited at the bar for water, taking in some of the groups talking, laughing, generally enjoying each other. Even Stamets was here, deep into discussion with Saru, both of them holding amber drinks and gesturing expansively. The whole scene was something to see. 

"Okay, I'm just saying, Airiam's augmentations mean it wasn't a totally level playing field," Tilly huffed, landing beside her at the bar. 

"Excuses, excuses," Michael teased. 

"She can calculate the intersection of weight, angles, and velocity in her head!"

"I think someone needs to step up her game," Michael shot back as the bartender returned with her glass of water. 

Tilly intercepted it, grabbing it and drinking it down. Michael stared at her, disbelieving. Tilly blinked and turned to the bartender. "Yeah, I think she's gonna need one, too."

The bartender laughed and turned to go get it as Michael said, "You're welcome, Tilly."

"My party—"

"Your rules. Yes, you mentioned."

Tilly was about to reply when her eyes got caught on something behind Michael, widening a little. "Oh, wow."

Michael turned to look—

To find _Pike_ in the doorway. He wore civilian clothes, dark pants and a black turtleneck sweater that _clung_ , outlining every muscle in his shoulders and arms. He surveyed the room, eyes sparkling, and Michael was suddenly back on the _Shenzhou_ , staring at the Terran Pike, alluring and dangerous in his black uniform. 

The want that raced through her body legitimately _stole her breath_. 

Michael swallowed against the dryness of her throat. "He looks—"

"Like a Terran. Also, yummy," Tilly said instantly. "You should take a bite."

Before Michael had to come up with a response to _that_ , the bartender returned and handed her a glass of water, Michael accepting it gratefully. "We should get back to the others," she corrected Tilly, taking a desperately-needed sip. 

"Delayed gratification, I feel ya," Tilly decided, nodding once. Then she was off. 

Michael stared at her back and forced herself not to look at Pike. That was not what this was. 

Not at all. 

***

They rejoined the others, who had moved on from games to talking at one of the high tables, Rhys and Bryce telling stories about their time at the Academy. Normally, Michael would have reveled in the insight to this life experience she'd never had, but she kept finding her eyes straying across the room, tracking Pike as he collected a drink, moved through the crowd, laughing and socializing. She'd never seen him so relaxed. It made her feel...strange.

Realizing she was staring again, Michael pulled her eyes away, focusing back on the story Bryce was telling:

"We woke up in a damn Jefferies tube, no idea where we were or how we got there." 

Rhys picked up the story: "Later we pieced together that our instructors had found us passed out and decided to teach us a lesson in situational awareness."

"They transported us to _a ship in orbit_. We had to crawl _forever_ to find a way out. Hungover, I might add," Bryce said, like he still couldn't believe it. "And when we finally made our way out, our instructor was just chilling in the junction room, chowing down on an apple."

"Where she looked at us and said, deadpan, 'So I had a fun night,'" Rhys finished gamely.

The others laughed, Michael smiling along at the guys' hangdog expressions. 

"Perhaps you shouldn't have gone drinking the night before an important drill," Airiam suggested. 

"Well, that's just asking too much," Bryce shot back, taking a swig of his drink like he was making a point. 

The others laughed again, cheerful and warm. Michael took them in, glad for this moment. 

"Michael!" a voice called out, turning her around.

Saito moved toward her through the crowd, wearing a red button-down and dark pants, a flush in his cheeks. 

Michael's smile felt frozen, but she nodded anyway. "Saito."

"Tilly dragged you out, huh?" he asked, dry. 

"I can't imagine what you mean. I was thoroughly agreeable," Michael said, trying to be sociable. 

"She's lying," Tilly sing-songed from behind her.

Michael looked at her askance. "Isn't there some code of roommate solidarity that applies here?"

Tilly toasted her with a very pink drink. "Cheers, roomie."

Saito laughed, then cocked his head as the music changed. "Hey, I like this song. Wanna dance?"

Michael blinked, surprised at the request, feeling a little caught-out. "Oh. Um, sure," she said, not wanting to be rude. She wasn't entirely clear on the protocol for these types of situations. 

Which was why she avoided them. 

But Saito seemed pleased, his brown eyes lighting up in pleasure. He grabbed her hand and headed for the dance floor at the far side of the lounge, which had thinned out a bit for the slower song, couples swaying to the music a contrast to the earlier flailing that accompanied the faster beat. Saito swept her into his arms, relaxed and easy, like this was no big deal. 

Michael wished she could say the same. She awkwardly followed his lead, gripping his hand, her movements unsure. She should be better at this and yet...she still hadn't figured out quite how it was all supposed to work. She needed to let him lead, she knew that much. 

She looked up at Saito, who smiled at her, like he either didn't notice or wasn't bothered. "Why don't you like parties, anyway?" he asked, genial.

"Who says I don't like them?"

"Uh, the fact that you bail on them as often as you can and when you do show up, you arrive late and leave early?" he offered, like this was no secret. 

Michael...hadn't realized people tracked her movements so closely. "I suppose I just never saw the point."

"Hey, now. Does hanging out need to have a point?" he asked, light. 

"Why spend your time socializing when you could be productive? There are any number of research projects I could be working on at this very moment," Michael said reasonably.

"Yeah, but when you die are you really gonna go thinking, 'man, I wish I'd spent more time on that research project?'" Saito goaded, like the answer was obvious. 

"I might if I was in the middle of it. I imagine dying without finding the answer might be very frustrating."

Saito paused to stare at her for a beat, then shook it off. "Wow. That is...something."

"You disagree?" she asked, surprised. 

Saito shrugged. "Guess I never really thought about it."

Now Michael frowned. "But you asked the question."

"It was more of a rhetorical question."

She shook her head. "It didn't seem that way."

Saito sighed. "Let's talk about something else."

Before she could follow that thought, the music changed, still slow, just different. Saito kept swaying her, adjusting to the slightly different beat. It surprised Michael a little. Didn't asking for a dance imply that the dance ended when the song did? If that assumption was incorrect, how were you supposed to go about ending a dance politely?

"Mind if I cut in?" a dry voice asked from behind her, eliciting a shiver all the way down her spine. She _knew_ that voice. 

Michael turned to find Pike standing there, a curl of amusement to his lips, but seeming wholly serious. His eyes swept her frame, an appreciative glint there that made a surge of _want_ race through her, heady and disorienting. Pike's eyes didn't linger, moving to Saito, standing just beyond Michael. 

She looked back just as Saito flushed and stepped away. "Of course, sir. I'll just—" He ran a flustered hand through his hair. "Thanks for the dance, Burnham." Then he retreated through the crowd.

She turned back to Pike, whose smile deepened for a moment before he held out a hand. His eyes asked a question he didn't need to voice, Michael unable to stop herself from taking his hand and letting him pull her close. She shouldn't...but she couldn't find it in herself to refuse. 

Pike settled her body against his, one arm moving around her to rest his hand on her lower back, a burst of heat she could _feel_. On the other side of the lounge, she could see Tilly looking over, giving her a not-at-all subtle thumbs up. 

Irritation flashed through Michael, but she lost the thread of it as Pike started to sway them to the music, all her senses zeroing in on him. The way he held her. The strength of his hands. The assurance of his movements. Michael trembled a little in his arms, staring at his black sweater, the sheer presence of him overwhelming in ways she couldn't even articulate. She swallowed against her suddenly-tight throat, finally finding her voice. "Thank you for that."

Pike's chuckle got her to look up, the roving lights periodically outlining him in gold. " _That_ looked incredibly painful," he said, low and amused. 

" _Incredibly_ painful," Michael echoed, nodding in relief at the safe topic. At least she wasn't the only one who had sensed it. She wasn't quite sure what it meant that _Pike_ had, though. 

Pike flashed a smile, his hand firming on her back, some kind of comfort there. "What the hell were you talking about, anyway? It's a party; how deep can you get?"

"He asked why I don't like parties, I said they seemed pointless when I could be researching, something he challenged, but then didn't even commit to challenging," Michael huffed, half-confused, half-annoyed. 

Pike _hmmed_ , which Michael could actually _feel_ where they were pressed together. It made her focus on her body again, the want still curling low in her belly, feeling how easy it was to move with him. Her heart pounded oddly in her chest at the thought. "He probably didn't expect you to disagree with him," Pike said reasonably.

"Then why ask the question?" she shot back, still irritated. 

"I would guess that he wanted to get to know you," Pike said, his tone almost indulgent. "Sounds like he did."

"It seems like an irrelevant thing to interrogate," she muttered, distracted by his warmth, the way she realized she could _smell_ him, some kind of dry spice she had no words for, but that still managed to be comforting and enticing all at once. Much like the man himself. 

"I disagree," Pike said, tone thoughtful. "It's quite revealing of relative values, if you think about it. Saito was saying that a social life is very important to him, something you dismissed as a waste of time. You value your intellectual pursuits above the personal."

Michael considered his words, surprised that the topic didn't make her uncomfortable when such a personal conversation normally might. But his tone held no censure, just empathy. "I wouldn't say that's entirely true. I certainly value my relationships. It's just always seemed like parties serve little purpose." 

Pike cocked his head, studying her as he moved them in a slow circle, easy and graceful. "I've got a purpose for you: unit cohesion."

Michael narrowed her eyes. "You're coming up with a logical pretense you think I'll accept."

"I would never," he said, light and teasing, making Michael smile. Then he nodded at the crew scattered throughout the lounge, still socializing and enjoying themselves. "Look around. Look at how relaxed everyone is, how at ease. You can gather a group of the most accomplished individuals in the galaxy, but that does not a crew make. You have to bind them together, encourage them to work with each other, to help each other. It's not just automatic. Parties are another way of team-building. A way to move us past our individual sense of self, so that it's not you and me, it's _we_." 

Michael swallowed against the desire curling through her body, seeping into every part of her, looking up into his earnest blue eyes, the sheer conviction in them enough to steal her breath. "I see," she finally said. 

Pike's eyes went self-deprecating. "Too much?"

"No," she said quickly. "No, you make a valid point. But that was...definitely not Saito's answer."

"I hate to say it, but you two _might_ not be meant for each other," he drawled, voice light.

Michael tensed; she couldn't help it. "Oh, that's—I don't think that was ever a question."

Pike shot her a dry look. "Someone might have forgotten to tell Saito."

Michael breathed out a laugh, relaxing a little, leaning into him, liking his solid strength against her. "I suspect he knows it now."

"And you call parties pointless," he shot back, eyes gleaming. 

"Tilly would take issue if I used them to _dissuade_ the suitors."

He grinned. "New project?"

"Don't tempt me."

"Call it research. Then you can have all things at once."

Michael laughed, dropping her forehead to his chest, warm and charmed and content. He really was something else. She took a shaky breath, breathing him in for a moment, feeling that traitorous flutter of heat in her belly, her body sliding against his—

And Pike stilled. Michael stiffened in response, internally berating herself for that slip, for losing control. He was incredibly perceptive; he'd proven that time and again. Of course he would clock that. It was foolish to think she'd be able to dance with him and not... _react_ to him. She'd let her attraction run away with her and now he knew. 

_Dammit_. 

Michael cleared her throat and looked up, already pulling back with a polite smile. Pike stared down at her, something different in his eyes now, but Michael forged ahead, not letting the sudden panic show. "Sorry, it's a bit crowded in here. I should take a break. If you'll excuse me."

She didn't wait for his response, just stepped back, turned, and left.

***

Michael stood in the deserted observation deck, everyone at the party or in bed. With the lights at 25%, the orange nebula outside seemed even brighter. 

Nothing was bright enough to distract from what had just happened. She'd worked so hard to keep her attraction under control. Tilly had noticed because she was Tilly. No one else had. 

Until now. 

Michael couldn't shake the look in his eyes, no idea what it meant. She'd been focused on how Pike hadn't treated her any differently after he found out about his Terran counterpart. But now _she had_. She'd treated him differently. A moment of inattention and it was all out there, nothing she could take back. 

What was it Tilly had said? Pike wasn't the ignoring-it type. There was no way he'd just let it go. He would invariably want to _talk_ about it. Michael tried to imagine how that discussion would go...and she just couldn't fathom it. She knew her attraction was inappropriate. She didn't need to hear it from him. 

The doors slid open and Michael didn't even turn to look; she already knew. 

"You all right?" Pike asked, his voice carrying even though he had spoken quietly. 

Michael smiled stiffly as she turned. "I think the alcohol and crowd caught up with me."

"Did they," he said as he moved toward her, not a question. His eyes were steady on her, searching, maddeningly neutral. The orange nebula cast him in a golden hue, so gorgeous he was a little hard to look at. Tilly had that right, too. 

"It's been a long few days," she said, trying to rein in the way her heart instinctively beat faster with him here, the way she was aware of how he moved, how he looked in that black sweater, the Terran Pike blending into this one, all of it overlaid with her traitorous desire. 

"That's certainly true, but I don't think it's the root cause here," he said, a trace of sympathy entering his voice. 

Michael blinked. Was he going to _pity_ her? She hadn't even considered that particular type of awful. "Must we?" she asked, meeting his eyes, maybe a little pleading. 

He tilted his head, like he wanted to give in to her...but then he frowned, almost remorseful. "Probably should." He shook his head, almost at a loss. "You said there wasn't bleed-over. You see me, not him."

"Most days that's true."

"Not now?"

From his curiosity she could tell he'd never let this go. He needed to understand. Part of her couldn't blame him for that. After all, as she well knew, it was _weird_. She might as well offer clarity. Maybe then they could move on. 

"Have you ever seen the Terran uniform?" she asked. 

Pike frowned, surprised at the change in topic. "No."

"They're mostly black. Adorned in gold," she added wryly.

She watched as understanding dawned, _something_ flickering in his eyes. "And tonight I reminded you of him."

"At first glance. But no, I know who you are," she corrected, gentle. "You're my captain, the man who will risk his ship to save one ensign's life, the man who will go toe to toe with his superiors for the values we all hold so dear. Who's kind and fair, thoughtful and noble, who brings me tacos when I'm down...and who didn't hold it against me when I confessed a moment of weakness a universe away." 

That _thing_ flickered in his eyes again. "How could I hold it against you? When all I can think is, even for a moment, you were attracted to me. Even if it was over there."

The drinks and the nebula and his frustratingly glittering eyes made her brave. Or stupid. "It wasn't just over there."

Satisfaction slipped through his expression, nothing he was trying to hide. "Michael..." he breathed, stepping toward her, close enough to touch, though he didn't. Yet. 

"Captain," she replied, low and pointed, unable to ignore the disparity in rank that had so plagued her. 

Pike frowned, studying her face. He brought a hand up to her cheek, pressing his fingers there delicately. "Chris," he said, equally pointed. "That doesn't have to matter here."

Michael shook her head, not daring to let herself hope. "It's inappropriate. You're my commanding officer."

"That only matters if we let it."

"Can you so easily separate the roles?" she asked, something yearning in her voice, unable to control it. 

"When it has no bearing, yes. Rank shouldn't get in the way of something we both want. _If_ you want it, that is."

He said the last almost hesitantly, like he was suddenly unsure, and it was so unexpectedly vulnerable that Michael couldn't help but step into him, leaning up to press her mouth to his. He sucked in a breath, surprised, but his mouth held hers, his hand firming on her cheek as he kissed her back, lips moving against hers, firm and careful. 

Heat flowed through her, warming her as the kiss deepened, Michael swaying into his body, his arm wrapping around her and pulling her close. He was all muscle and strength, taking some of her weight, and Michael felt a little faint with it, making some noise into his mouth and then breaking the kiss. Before she was unable to. 

"I do want it," she admitted against his mouth, voice breathless. "I think about it every day. I can't get you out of my head," she confessed, overwhelmed by how he looked at her, like she was something special. 

The smile started in his eyes. "Then I say we do something about that."

***

It felt surreal, walking with Pike—with _Chris_ —to his quarters. Michael couldn't help herself as her eyes strayed to him, the black of his sweater not hiding the bulk of his shoulders, the assuredness of his gait. It felt like she'd been waiting for him for ages, even though she'd only known this version of him for weeks. 

He felt _inevitable_. 

Chris led the way into his quarters, gesturing her in expansively, Michael taking in his space—larger than her own quarters, decorated warmly, with thought and obvious care. 

"Drink?" he offered, nodding to his sideboard, where a few bottles of liquor sat, along with glasses.

"No, I want to remember this," she confessed, drinking him in, backlit by the stars. 

Chris' eyes darkened as he moved to her, stepping close, _into_ her space. His eyes dragged over her, not touching. 

She breathed in, awareness of him prickling along her skin. Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore, swaying forward to press against him, mouth lifting to his. Their lips clung, sweet and heady. Michael took a breath against him—

And like that it went passionate, Chris crushing their mouths together, his arms folding around her to squeeze her tight as they devoured each other, lips and tongues and _teeth_. Michael felt out of control, like she was in freefall and yet grounded in her body at the same time. She tugged at his bottom lip with her teeth, making a satisfied little noise at the groan it elicited. 

That was enough to get Chris to break the kiss, staring at her like she was some kind of revelation, both of them panting, their chests heaving against one another. 

Michael leaned in for his mouth again, but he backed off with a little shake of his head, something careful entering his gaze. 

"Is something wrong?" she asked, a little worry starting to unfold in her gut. 

Chris cleared his throat and looked away for a beat before looking back to her, his expression almost...apologetic. He brought one hand to her cheek, caressing her reverently. "I know I don't have the right, and you can tell me to go to hell if you want, but I will admit some part of me is desperate to know what happened between you and...him."

"Oh." Michael swallowed, trying to get hold of herself, trying to _think_. He'd said she could tell him to go to hell. She didn't have to get into it. 

But as she watched him take her in, _so much_ in his eyes, she found she didn't want to hide it away anymore. 

She leaned against him, settling in, letting the warmth of his body bolster her. "He, uh...he came to my ready room. Upset. I didn't know about their relationship. I thought he was challenging me, so I couldn't back down." Chris flinched minutely, but Michael didn't let it deter her. "I didn't know there was more to it until he touched me. Just like this," she said, gesturing to the hand Chris still had cupping her cheek. He started to pull his hand away, but Michael grabbed it, holding it to her skin. "No, don't." 

Chris subsided, nodding, lacing their fingers together. "Sorry. Go ahead."

"Then he kissed me...and I let him." But she scoffed at herself, backtracking. "I more than let him. I kissed him back. I thought—some part of me figured I could use it, the love he had for her. But I'd be lying if I said that was most of it. I _wanted_ the way he made me feel. So I kissed him and let him push me onto the table. He knew _exactly_ how to touch me, like he knew my body better than I did. He got me off just like that, fully clothed, riding his hand. After, he said—he said, 'I'm going to fuck you so hard you forget Lorca's name.'"

Chris blinked, clearly surprised. "Lorca?"

Michael nodded, her gut clenching at the memory, the reminder of...everything. "He was jealous of Lorca. He thought I'd left _for_ him."

"That's why Lorca brought you onto the _Discovery_ ," Chris breathed, making the connection. 

"Yes, but can we—can we not talk about him right now?" Michael asked, searching his eyes.

Chris ran his thumb over her cheek. "Can we talk about him later?" he asked, soft.

Michael nodded again. "Just not right now."

Chris dropped his eyes, but he nodded, small. 

"Okay," Michael said, the relief streaking through her. "After the Terran Pike said that, we, uhh, got interrupted. And that was the last I saw of him."

Chris met her eyes again, a shadow there now as he studied her. After a moment, the corners of his lips lifted, ever so slight. "Thank you for telling me." He brought their mouths together, the ferocity gone, this kiss full of warmth. Gentle. 

Michael fell into it, kissing back, reveling in the honeyed want building within her. 

He broke away after a few moments, bringing their foreheads together, breathing against her. "I say we make some new memories," he rasped, pulling back to meet her eyes. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. If you want," he said, stroking her cheek again, always leaving it up to her. 

"I want," she said, voice breathy and turned on. 

Chris' eyes warmed and he nodded, gently nudging her back. Michael frowned, confused, but followed his lead, allowing him to back her up—

Until she felt the table behind her and pulled up short, realizing what he planned. Sudden fire raced up her spine as she reached for him, pulling him down for a kiss. 

Chris moaned into it, lifting her onto the table and stepping between her legs, just like the Terran Pike had done. 

Michael gasped at the feel of him against her inner thighs, bare this time because of her dress. Chris ran teasing fingers up her thighs, lifting the dress as he went, sending heat straight to her core, where she was already so wet. He broke their kiss to look down at her as his fingers played over the junction where hip met thigh, making a playful noise. "No underwear, huh?"

"I couldn't, not with the dress," she gasped, panting against his mouth, hyperfocused on the feeling of his fingers on her bare skin, marveling at how _different_ this felt, so much more intimate. "Please," she said against his mouth, wrapping her legs around him, gripping his arms, more turned on than she'd ever been in her life.

Chris smiled a little. "So polite," he murmured as he moved his hand to her slick folds, fingers tracing through the wetness there, sending a burst of lightning up her spine. She gasped as he touched her, soft, exploratory, nothing like the Terran Pike, but still _so good_. 

He kissed her again as he moved his hand, mouth soft but mind-stealing. She keened when he thrust two fingers into her, running his thumb around her clit delicately. Then he tapped it, just light, and Michael nearly came off the table, pleasure shaking through her. 

Chris chuckled into her mouth, enjoying this, figuring her out. The Terran Pike already _knowing_ her had been hot, overwhelming, but there was joy in this, Chris exploring what she liked. He tapped her clit again, making Michael gasp and practically vibrate against him, pleasure overtaking her brain. She started trembling everywhere as Chris continued playing—circling and flicking and tapping over her clit, bringing her right to the edge, so close to climax her vision was fuzzy at the edges—

And then he paused, backing off even though she was _right there_. He pulled back to look into her eyes, his own already glassy, his fingers still thick inside her. "Do you want more or do you want to come?" he asked, voice gravelly and sounding like sex. 

Michael tried to catch her breath, tried to think beyond the desperate, base need to come _rightthissecond_. 

"I want more," she finally said, breathy and desperate. 

Chris backed off even more, flexing the two fingers inside her, the urgency draining away, not touching her clit at all. He slowly worked his way up to it, one firm press of his fingers against her and then they were gone, only to return and repeat the process moments later. 

He continued, tireless, alternating new patterns against her, up and down, side to side, his heat bleeding into her from above, Michael's muscles shaking, until she was drenched in sweat, her whole body tingling, so close. _So close_. 

"Do you want more or do you want to come?" he asked again, softer this time, pulling back to again meet her eyes. 

"More," Michael breathed.

Chris smiled a little and obliged, his fingers going soft, feather-light on her clit. Michael arched into his touch, reveling in the pleasure sweeping through her. He'd figured out what she liked, giving it to her in stages, tapping at her clit and then moving his fingers away, pressing into her and curling. But then he'd return, doing it again, only longer, endless cycles of teasing her and backing off until her nails were digging into his black sweater, sparks in her vision. 

She didn't wait for him to ask this time. "I want to come, I want to come," she keened, voice shot.

"Anything," he breathed, "anything you want," he said before kissing her again, fingers closing around her clit and squeezing lightly. Michael gasped and threw her head back as everything went bright, pleasure shaking her whole body as fire swept through her, the orgasm hitting her from somewhere deep, sending her flying, pleasure so intense it kicked her out of her body. 

Long, fuzzy moments later, Michael panted as she came back to herself, Chris' fingers still moving so lightly against her, his body curved over hers. She could feel his heat, the firm press of his erection against her thigh, but it was all still vaguely remote, satisfaction suffusing everything. She marveled at how different it was from the other Pike, Michael moving against him in delight, noise escaping her. 

Chris chuckled as he nuzzled her jaw, finally stilling his hand and pulling his fingers from her. "You seem entirely pleased with yourself," he said, indulgence in his tone.

Michael turned her head and brought their mouths together, kissing him purposefully. "Or you," she murmured against his lips. 

He _hmmed_ against her mouth, then kissed her again. "I do aim to please."

"You succeed," she mumbled as she pulled back, eyes on his face. "Take me to bed, Chris."

He didn't need urging. He simply pulled away, then leaned back down to scoop her up and carry her to the bedroom. Michael looped her hands around his neck, allowing it, not entirely sure her legs would work right now, her muscles still shaky and weak. 

Chris set her on the bed, so gentle, before stretching out next to her with a sigh. He ran a hand from her thigh up her body to her cheek, the touch sensual, not covetous. He pressed their mouths together, but didn't let it get too involved, pulling back to take her in. "Do you want me to fuck you until you can't remember Lorca's name?" he asked in that dark voice, his tone saying he would, _anything she wanted_. 

Michael swallowed, remembering that moment, what seemed so long ago now. And truly, like it came from an entirely different person. She reached out, touching the corner of Chris' mouth, where his smiles never seemed to fade. "No," she said, realizing only after she'd spoken that it was true. It'd been a fantasy, a declaration of ownership in its own way. She didn't want that from him. 

Chris blinked, clearly surprised. "Really?"

"I don't want what he would have done. I want _you_."

His eyes darkened, then he leaned in and took her mouth again, the kiss focused, but still somehow soft. After a few moments he pulled back, staring down at her, heated. "You've got me," he breathed, like a vow. 

Michael reached for him then, a hand at the base of his neck pulling his mouth to hers, losing herself in him as their tongues tangled together. It was wet and wanting, the kind of mind-stealing kiss she'd heard others mention, but never really understood. 

She got it now. 

After a few more blissful moments, Chris pulled back, staring at her. "You looked beautiful tonight," he said, almost like a confession. 

Michael flushed, dropping her eyes. "Tilly picked the dress."

"She chose well," he said, pulling back, looking down her body, at the dress she still wore, a little rumpled from their passion. "You glowed," he said, reverent, one hand moving from her cheek, down the skin of her chest, over the bodice of her dress, like he was learning by feel. "I couldn't keep my eyes off you."

"Nor mine you," she said, hand landing on his heart, beating solid and sure through his black sweater. 

He dropped down to kiss her hand, then shifted away, finding the tiny zipper on her dress and carefully lowering it, holding her eyes as he did. Michael shifted, something unbearably intimate about it, Chris staring into her eyes as he peeled her out of her clothes. Want curled in her belly, even after the orgasm she'd already had, but now she didn't shy away from it, gasping out as his fingers tugged the dress down, baring her skin by inches. 

She shifted her hips up when he urged her to, letting him pull the dress off and toss it aside, his eyes raking over her now-naked body with undeniable heat. "So beautiful," he murmured, pressing close, hands and mouth moving over her skin, lighting up little sparks of pleasure everywhere he made contact. 

He ran teasing fingertips over her thighs, mouth pressing tiny kisses up her stomach, murmuring appreciation all the way. Michael wrapped her hands in his hair, moving against him, gasping when he nipped at her skin, then mouthed over it. He explored slowly, making his way up to her breasts, his soft mouth turning her nipples hard as lightning buzzed down her spine. His weight pressed her down into the bed, heavy in a satisfying way, but Michael wanted more. She wanted to _feel_ him. 

She moved one hand from his neck to grip at his sweater and tug. Chris looked up at her, eyes gone a little hazy. She tugged again. "I want to feel you."

That seemed to reach him, Chris peeling off the sweater and tossing it aside with a carelessness that stole her breath. Then he leaned over her again, mouth on hers, and it was skin to skin, so much better, Michael letting her hands flow over him, learning his muscles by feel. 

He sighed into her mouth, sucking on her tongue, and Michael drew one hand between them to scratch over his chest, getting a sharp nip in response. 

She broke the kiss with a smile. "More," she said, wrapping one leg around him, skin sliding against the pants he still wore.

"Yes, ma'am," he shot back, levering himself up and away. He stood and started working at his pants, muscles in his arms and chest shifting in the low light, a work of art. That heat curled in her belly again as he shoved his pants and underwear down, freeing his cock, already hard for her. Then he crawled back onto the bed, every movement arresting as he settled himself over her, bringing their mouths together again. 

Michael pulled back after a moment, her hands running over as much of him as she could reach, liking the contrast of their skin tones. "You're beautiful, too," she murmured, marveling as her fingers stroked over the cut of his bicep, smooth skin over hard muscle. "From the moment I saw you..."

He breathed _in_ , bringing her eyes back to his face. "The moment you saw him?" he asked, something tentative in it. 

"And you," she insisted. "Standing there in that gold uniform, so assured in your own skin. I couldn't keep my eyes off you. People _noticed_."

Chris' eyes warmed as he leaned in again, the kiss heated. "I'm surprised you didn't see me looking back. You have this gravity to you," he breathed against her mouth, one hand trailing over her breast, down her stomach, fingers carding through her pubic hair, then teasing at her wetness. 

"I was trying not to look," she said on a gasp, arching into his fingers, trying to get more. 

"You can look as much as you want," he rumbled, the rasp of his voice sending a shiver of _yes_ through her even as his fingers played over her clit beautifully, making her body clench, feeling somehow empty. He looked down, and Michael followed suit, watching as he pressed two fingers inside her, her inner walls fluttering around him. Chris thrust his fingers in slowly, looking back to her eyes. "You feel so good."

Michael made a high noise, her hands digging into his back, everything in her _aching_. "Please. Want you."

Chris groaned and pulled his fingers out of her, shifting himself between her legs, kissing her again, all lips and tongue, stealing her ability to think. He pressed her knees up and back, Michael feeling muscles flex in ways they hadn't in a while, the sudden vulnerability rivaled only by the inherent trust she had in him. He broke the kiss when he pressed his cock to her entrance, pulling back a breath to stare into her eyes. "Michael," he breathed as he pushed inside her, Michael making a high noise that got caught in her throat as he sank _in_ , lighting up nerve endings everywhere. She felt the stretch as her body adjusted to him, the heat of him bearing down on her, the slickness of sweat springing up adding to the slickness between her legs, everything slippery and hot. 

He paused when he bottomed out, eyes fluttering closed for a breath before opening them again to focus on her. "Perfect," he said, rough and low. "You're perfect." He kissed her again, keeping himself still, though she could feel his body faintly trembling against hers. It sent a rush of affection through her, clear even amidst the fire heating her blood. 

She squeezed around him, getting a shocked gasp as she breathed out, "More."

Chris groaned and pulled out a little, flexing back in. Michael gasped, hands gripping him as he set up a rhythm, slow and deep. Her knees squeezed him, body fluttering every time he sank in. 

"Yeah, just like that," Chris said, low, as he rocked into her, her knees framing his ribcage, the angle making everything tighter, hotter. He worked one hand under her back, lifting her up a little and holding her close. She'd never felt so surrounded, so full. He _had_ her, in every way that he could, and Michael could do nothing but keen into his mouth as he slowly thrust into her, over and over again, murmuring praise against her lips as he set about driving her mad with pleasure. 

Michael gave herself up to it, pressing against him as he rocked in, digging her heels into his back, encouraging. She could smell them together, musky and hot, only compounding the fire racing through her blood as he fucked her perfectly.

Chris moved his free hand between them to press at her clit, pleasure suffusing everything. " _Yes_ ," she hissed, her body trembling as she felt another orgasm approach, his touch going firmer, making her gasp and cry out. Everything went hot and hazy, Chris working over her clit as he thrust inside her, layers of pleasure building on each other, deeper than before, like ripples in a lake spreading ever outward, but increasing in force. He knew exactly how to touch her now, his body filling hers perfectly, still holding her close, whispering encouragement against her mouth. "Want to watch you come, Michael. Such gorgeous abandon. A revelation. Want to worship you."

His rough voice, full of sex and wonder, pushed her over the edge, orgasm claiming her, a white heat that wiped away everything else. It went on and _on_ , and some part of her knew his fingers were still moving, felt his body shuddering against hers as he came, but she couldn't access it, rolling waves of bliss all she could feel. 

After endless moments, it subsided, Michael gasping as she came back to her body, still shaking and wrapped up in Chris, both of them sweaty and past sense. He panted into her shoulder, tremors shivering through him at odd intervals, cock still half-hard and inside her. Michael rested her head against his, trying to catch her breath, uncurling her hands from his shoulders. She winced as she did; it was entirely possible he would have bruises in the morning. 

Chris lifted his head to meet her eyes, something shaken lurking there. "Okay," he murmured, voice halting, like he was trying to gather himself. "Okay." He breathed out, leaning in to press his mouth to hers, a kind of reverence in the kiss, even as it was wild and uncontrolled. 

Michael marveled at that; the famed Captain Pike, losing his composure. And here, with her. She deepened the kiss, letting him feel her own unsteadiness. She fell into it, the two of them trembling together, locked in a kiss. She pressed weak fingers to his cheek, feeling the hint of stubble there. This was a moment, she knew. A moment she wanted to hold onto forever, even as she knew she couldn't, that it would pass, just as all others did. 

Eventually, he broke the kiss, pulling back, once again master of himself. But he didn't even try to hide the wonder in his eyes, something deep and fierce lurking behind it. "You are something else, Michael Burnham," he murmured, his voice rough and used. 

"No. That's you," she said, surprised at how rough her own voice sounded. 

Chris smiled a little and kissed her again, then slowly shifted back, pulling out of her, soft hands on her thighs helping straighten her legs. Michael hissed at the stretch—she hadn't done that in a while—and Chris made a soothing noise, careful fingers massaging the spots where hips met thighs. He looked up, a shadow of concern in eyes gone dark blue with pleasure. "You okay?"

"Better than okay."

Chris nodded and settled close to her, keeping up the ministrations as Michael sighed and let herself drift. Eventually she covered his hands, making a negative noise. He seemed to get it, curling around her and holding her close. His fingers stroked idle trails over her body, like he just wanted the contact. It soothed her, muscles slowly relaxing, leaving behind only exhausted pleasure. She nuzzled into his chest, feeling the tickle of his chest hair against her nose, reveling in another moment she wanted to _live in_. 

It was her last thought before she fell asleep. 

***

Michael woke sometime later, snuggled into a pillow, under the covers. She shifted a little, feeling the pull of tired muscles, but not the stickiness she would have expected. Chris must have cleaned her up, then moved her into the bed, all without waking her. She swallowed against the tight feeling in her throat. No one had ever done that. 

She tried to shake it off. Chris caring for her shouldn't land on her so hard—it was wholly within his character—and yet something about it struck her. He was just so...good. 

Michael turned to look at him, still sleeping, head buried in his own pillow. Even from here she could tell his hair was a mess. The thought made her unbearably fond. She breathed in, smelling the two of them together, deciding that the distance just would not do. 

She slid over, pressing against his body, eliciting a muffled noise of pleasure as he started to wake. Chris turned onto his back, letting Michael press against him, leaning her cheek against his chest. She could hear the steady _thump_ of his heart, strong and reassuring, as she soaked in the warmth of his skin. 

After a few moments he sighed and seemed to wake, leaning down to press a light kiss to her hair. "Morning," he rumbled, voice scratchy. 

"Sorry to wake you."

Chris made a negative noise, draping his arm over her to run light fingers up her naked back. "Glad you did. The real thing is better than the dream."

Some kind of bone-deep satisfaction swept through her. She nuzzled into his chest. "I like this."

"Me, too."

Michael lay in his arms, listening to his heart beat, mind drifting to how odd this felt, even as the rightness overwhelmed her. This moment, this was what she wanted. 

Soft fingers pressed to her forehead, stroking. "Already a mile a minute, huh? What are you thinking this early?"

"I just realized...I've never done this. Not really," she said, gesturing to the two of them twined together, lazing. She sighed. "I'm doing a lot of things I've never done these days," she added, low, her mind going to the Terran Pike. 

"Do I hear recrimination in that?" he said, light, but curiosity lurked underneath it. 

Michael swallowed and looked up at him, sleep-mussed and gorgeous, everything in him screaming openness. "Can I ask you something?"

He smiled a little, like it wasn't even a question. "Of course."

"Doesn't it bother you that I...was _with_ that other Pike?"

He tilted his head, a glint of compassion entering his eyes. "It sounds like it bothers you."

"...yeah," she said, quiet. "Tilly says I'm being too judgmental, that everybody's had ill-advised liaisons."

Chris made a contemplative sound. "I get that."

"Does that mean...even you?" she asked, dubious. 

"You're forgetting all that time I spent as a teenage boy. And also, a dumbass. Although I suppose I repeat myself."

Michael huffed a laugh, as he intended. Still. "I can't see it."

"Because you see me as I am now. But it took work to become that man. I'm still trying to improve. That's the process." 

A wave of fondness swept over her. "I like who you are now."

Chris smiled, happiness shining through. "Me, too. But getting here wasn't without its setbacks." He considered her for a moment. "I think you hold yourself to a very high standard. Some might say impossibly high."

"I know I'm not perfect. I accept that," Michael said, resting her chin on his chest. 

"Yet you can't reconcile your encounter with him," Chris pointed out, even. 

Michael sighed. That was the crux of it. "It feels different."

"Why? Because it's about sex?"

She wrestled with it, not entirely clear herself. "Maybe? It's...I wanted him. I went along with it because I wanted to, nothing more elevated than that. Everything was terrible, I wanted to feel good, and he offered that. And even though I knew what he stood for, I just...ignored it."

Chris _hmmed_. "Let's take another tack. Consider if this were someone else. Someone on a mission under ungodly amounts of pressure, who at any moment could be discovered and killed, found a means of psychological release that didn't hurt anyone. Would you condemn that person?"

Michael considered it, frowning. "Likely not."

"So why not extend that empathy to yourself?"

Michael stared at him, a little stumped. 

Chris saw it and brought his hand to her face, brushing soft fingers over her cheekbone. "You can forgive yourself a moment of weakness, Michael." 

Michael blinked back the tears that suddenly stung her eyes. "I might have been applying standards to myself that I wouldn't to anyone else," she finally allowed. "That seems...unreasonable."

Chris nodded, watching her with the softest eyes. "To answer your original question, no, it doesn't bother me that you were with him. If that's what you needed in that moment, no matter the reason, then I'm glad he was there. Because it got you here."

Michael swallowed, nodding in acceptance. 

Chris took her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing lightly. He held her eyes as he said, "Since we're already on difficult topics...Lorca?"

Michael sighed and shrugged. "I only learned he'd had a relationship with my counterpart when I was over there. I thought he brought me to the _Discovery_ for my mind, for what I could contribute. In hindsight, the best interpretation is he wanted to use me as a way to get to the Emperor. The worst is that he wanted his murder-bride back and it was all a manipulation to that end. I don't really know for sure."

"That must be hard. Thinking you were valued for your mind only to find out it was because of something else entirely."

"It was."

Something about Chris went careful, almost apologetic. "I hope you know that I didn't come into this with any—I didn't expect you."

Michael smiled as she realized he'd worried about this. "I know. You just found me irresistible."

"You joke, but it's true." He stroked a finger over the skin by her eye, seeming mesmerized. 

She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. Warm. "Rest assured, ranks aside, you are nothing like Lorca."

It seemed to ease his mind, Chris nodding, making a soft noise. "I hate everything about him and part of me is still grateful. Because he gave you a second chance, as manipulative as it was. He brought you here. To me."

Michael smiled, soft. "We've thoroughly established the bizarre, impossible sequence of events that brought us to this moment. I suppose the question is...what do we do now that we're here?"

Chris leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers, gentle. Then he pulled back, eyes bright. "Live."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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